Can Someone Please Explain Jazz to Me Because I Do Not Understand It
Swamp Rat & I have this friend who is a famous jazz guitarist. In fact, she's so famous I'm going to tell you her real name. I've seen her play and, yes, she is amazing. Jazz is not my thing, but I can tell that Sheryl is a genius. Also, she's really cool. Yesterday I asked her if she'd ever been to Luxembourg. She said yes. So I said, "What's Luxembourg like?" Without any hesitation and with utter conviction, she said, "It's like Baltimore."
But everything Sheryl accomplishes as an inadvertent ambassador of jazz to Secret Planet Cathy is generally nullified within a few days by the music college I have the great good fortune to live across the street from. There's this guy who's taken up a perch on the corner of the college-he stands right on the little fence there, up against the wall. And he plays jazz sax. Sheryl said that if he was good I wouldn't be so irritated. I don't know anything about that, but I hate him-hate him with a passion-and the only thing that keeps me from calling the cops on him and his motherfucking squeaky improvisation is that he's got his case laid out in front of him. In other words, he's playing for money. So suddenly now it's a censorship issue and I feel all guilty for suppressing him. I should just call the pigs.